


Yuuri in Winter

by Anonymous



Series: Short YOI fills [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Introspection, Living Together, M/M, Winter, st petersburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14275158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Winter in St Petersburg was beautiful in a way Yuuri hadn’t expected. He’d expected darkness, grey skies, wet and slippery streets. He got those things, of course — it waswinter— but he also got crisp, sharp blue skies, so deep they didn’t look real; he got fairytale buildings dusted with snow; he got lights twinkling in branches at night; and he got Victor, in his country, in his element, leading him by the hand to see it all.





	Yuuri in Winter

Winter hit St Petersburg while Yuuri was away for competition; he returned, and when he woke up on the plane, the far-away ground was a sea of white, like a fresh rink, waiting for him to make his mark on it. 

Yakov was waiting for them at the airport, two thick and stylish coats draped over his arm; Yuuri recognised Victor’s taste, and although the shoulders of his were so big that the sleeves covered his fingers, the coat was lovely and warm. He huddled into it when they stepped out of the building and into the darkening evening, and Victor put an arm around him, drawing him near. 

“We’ll get you a fur hat,” he said, just so Yuuri could hear. “And you should wear that coat, it’s your colour. And gloves, and I have some of those chemical handwarmers…” 

“I have a coat from Detroit,” said Yuuri. 

“Ah,” said Victor. “But I want you to wear that one.” 

* 

Even Makkachin had a coat, and little boots. True to his word, Victor bought Yuuri a hat and gloves, and Yuuri had to admit that although he felt like a hopeless foreigner in his furry hat, mimicking the elegance of the people around him, the hat was warm and cosy, and made the contrast of the burning cold on his cheeks even more pleasurable than usual. 

Yuuri and Victor were creatures of winter. All skaters were — even in the hot Hasetsu summers of his adolescence, Yuuri had craved the smell and scrape of the icy rink. He remembered skating with his shoulders and nose peeling from sunburn, wanting to lie on his back and let the ice hold him, take the fire away from his skin. 

Winter in St Petersburg was beautiful in a way Yuuri hadn’t expected. He’d expected darkness, grey skies, wet and slippery streets. He got those things, of course — it was _winter_ — but he also got crisp, sharp blue skies, so deep they didn’t look real; he got fairytale buildings dusted with snow; he got lights twinkling in branches at night; and he got Victor, in his country, in his element, leading him by the hand to see it all. 

* 

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t get homesick. Yakov wanted them to go to a banya, and Yuuri didn’t mind it, but after, he sat and watched the snow outside the window for a while, and Victor came and held him. 

“You didn’t like it?” he asked. 

“No,” said Yuuri, uncertainly. “I mean, yes. It was fine. But…” He frowned. “It was like eating something that you thought would be sweet, but it was salty instead. I just need to get used to it.” 

Victor tucked his chin over Yuuri’s shoulder. 

“I love you,” he said, apropos of nothing, and Yuuri felt a familiar flash of warmth when he did, hotter even than the banya, and turned his head just slightly for a kiss. 

* 

Bit-by-bit, Yuuri got used to it. Rest days were for resting, but Victor was Victor, so they were likely to go out exploring palaces and museums, taking burning shots of vodka to warm up before (and after) launching themselves into a shopping expedition or a long walk with Makkachin. He didn’t realise how used to it he was until Otabek came to stay for a brief training camp, and Victor went into tour-guide mode, and Yuuri — Yuuri carried the groceries and managed the slippery streets and let his feet guide him home, because their two young rivals needed, according to Yakov, supervision, especially on rest days. 

Yuuri often thought that Yakov was kinder and wilier than he ever wanted to appear. 

“Haven’t you been to St Petersburg before?” asked Yuuri, curious, while Victor and Yuri fought in Russian about whatever it was that they were cooking. Makkachin was trying to be a lapdog, and the air in the flat was balmy and faintly spicy from the kitchen smells. 

“No,” said Otabek. “I went to training in Moscow, but not here.” He considered Yuuri seriously. “Where do you think we should go sightseeing? Viktor is enthusiastic, but he has too many ideas, and Yuri tells me it’s all just lame in midwinter and we should just stay in and watch movies. I need someone who has new eyes to tell me what is good.” 

“I’ll write you a list,” said Yuuri. “But I think the palaces are good. There’s nothing like them in Japan, or America, and when the snow is on them…” He lost the English for what he wanted to say. “And you can walk in the grounds, and it sort of _crunches_ under your feet. And then go inside and it’s warm.” He scratched Makkachin’s ears, trying to work out to characterise the city properly. “I like winter here. I think I like winter here best of all countries. It’s cozy.” 

He heard — or possibly sensed — a noise from Victor, and turned to see Victor’s face. He was smiling broadly, eyes bright. Yuuri smiled at him, and then ducked his head. When he looked up, Victor was still staring, like Yuuri was impossible to look away from. 

* 

They didn’t always go out. When the snow melted to slush, they stayed in — the same beautiful, biting cold at the windows, but the ground outside treacherous and dirty. Spring would come in soon, Yuuri knew, but without any of the trappings of it he was used to from childhood, or even adulthood. 

He woke early, still dark outside. A late flurry of snow blew against the windowpane, and he smiled to himself; just a while longer, then. Beside him, Victor stirred, but didn’t wake; Yuuri watched as the snow began to fall in earnest, blanketing the ground again, and then rolled over in Victor’s arms, snuggling right against him. 

“Mmm?” asked Victor. 

“It’s snowing,” said Yuuri. 

“I thought it was spring?” asked Victor. He yawned, and then nuzzled Yuuri’s hair. “We can take Makkachin out later, and go see the cathedral.” 

Yuuri shook his head. “Let’s stay in bed all day,” he said, and Victor made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Yuuri closed his eyes, and when he woke again the world outside was cold, and the clouds hung low over the buildings, and Victor was warm and flush against him, stroking his fingertips over Yuuri’s arm, watching him slowly wake. 

They stayed in bed all day, as outside the snow fell, quiet and gentle, wrapping the world in white. 

* 

Summer came slowly, drip-by-drip, until suddenly it was warm and even humid, nights growing long, walks getting later and later. The White Nights swept in, and Victor took them on canal trips, to concerts, to everything they could fit in whilst still training. Otabek visited again, and Phichit, and Chris, and St Petersburg began to feel more permanent, more like somewhere that Yuuri could live. Even his rudimentary Russian was getting better. 

He was home for the start of his second winter in Russia. The first fragile snowflakes melted on his hands, flurrying, swift, and then that night they built up against windowpanes and the buildings, making the world anew for him to explore the next day. 

“What are you thinking?” asked Victor, when he sprung Yuuri sitting on the sofa, looking out of the wide windows of their flat and onto the snowy rooftops and streets, coffee warm in his hands. 

“I’m glad it’s snowing,” said Yuuri. “Is that weird?” 

“No,” said Victor, coming to join him, tucking up close, stealing a mouthful of Yuuri’s coffee. “Not weird at all.”


End file.
